Ebon-souled
by Hurricane-chan
Summary: It began with a simple desire to eradicate the Thalmor from Skyrim after they had wronged his family. What it became was, if he thought about it, the biggest gift and curse he could ever have received. After all, undeath is still immortality. Violence, slash, etc. Read and review if it strikes your fancy.
1. The Meaning of Gone

**Hello, thank you for reading! This story has been in my mind for far too long and needed to be out of my brain and into the world. This chapter went through a rough patch that ended in an entire re-write, the likes of which I don't regret in the least. :) If you care to review, please do! I'm friendly and would love some input. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Elder Scrolls or any references, just my own characters.**

**Enjoy!**

**Hurricane**

* * *

The sky over Morthal was sullenly gray that morning, as befitted the scene that took place in the small graveyard on the edge of the sleepy little town. A light snow fell from the sky, leaving a sheer coat on buildings and people alike. The air was still, save for the soft speaking of A Priestess of Arkay who was presiding over her second funeral in a week. As always, she offered up prayers and assurances to the family of the deceased, hoping that her words were promising enough to give them some form of comfort in their time of grief. The body that lay burning in front of her and the mourners was of an Altmer, a strange sight to see in this part of Skyrim. However strange it was to be performing rites on this Altmer man in the far north of the province, she found the sheer quiet of the scene to be most unnerving. Neither his wife nor adult son spoke or cried; they looked defeated, broken. She was only capable of guessing what was going on in their minds. The only insight offered to her was a quick, piercing glance from the amber eyes of his son, filled with more anger and pain than any stare she had ever seen or would see again. Even with the wind whipping the robes around her and the snow falling from the sky, nothing chilled her to the bone the way those eyes did. There was something behind that pain that disturbed her. The only word that came to her was _'Madness…'_

When Adiah stared at the Priestess, he hoped that she caught even a fraction of the storm that was raging in his mind. He was angry with her, irrationally so. Here was this woman who knew nothing at all about his father or how he died, speaking of his ascendency into the realm of the Divines and assuring him and his mother that he had gone to place far better than the mortal world. Adiah wanted to scream at her, tell her how wrong she was. His father's place was _here,_ with him. It had always been that way, who was this priestess to say otherwise? The skinny Imperial woman shivered and looked away from him, returning her dark eyes to the worn book she held open in her hands. She was deliberately avoiding Adiah's glance, exhibiting a form of common sense that he didn't assume she was capable of. He supposed that he had put enough hatred into his look for her to turn away. The thought made him smirk inwardly.

"As we commend this soul to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight go with him in his passing…"

Adiah hung his head, lengthy blonde hair falling before his eyes. He'd give the scared little woman a reprieve from his anger for now, but he'd be damned if he gave her the respect she probably deserved. Instead, he stared at the body of his father whose peaceful face was being consumed by fire. As he stared, a knot formed in his gut. If he and his mother had been just a little earlier, just a little sooner…he would be standing beside them now, helping to bring in firewood for the night.

The mer called Zaphír (Adiah just called him "father,") had been imprisoned by the Thalmor for the past three years, tortured every day until his body just gave up on life. He had once been part of the organization, spent almost ten years in their service until Adiah's mother gave him a reason to move on, to change his life and make a better one. He had left the Embassy in the dead of night, escaped right out from under their noses on a horse that he had "borrowed" from their stables. He managed to hide from them for 21 years before a Khajiit scout who was travelling through Morthal and happened to recognize his face from a dossier that his ex-associates had created after his dissention. Within days, he was gone. Imprisoned, released only by death from infected wounds around his wrists where the rusted, iron shackles had been. The marks from them were still present, visible even amongst the orange flames. Adiah and his mother had arrived at the Thalmor Embassy where he had been held the day after he died; they had with them a small Legion (at his mother's request, of course; the she-mer was nothing if not thorough) to ensure they were not assaulted. They were "investigating" on behalf of the Empire, a routine mission just to make sure that all was going according to regulation. The truth was that they had been given a lead on Zaphir's location by a member of the Thalmor themselves who chose to remain anonymous. By the time they had arrived, it was too late. He'd been dead for a fortnight….

Adiah swallowed thickly, squashing the image of his father's lifeless body in the cell they had discovered him in. It was not the way he chose to remember the man that had once been the light of his life. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to wallow in the grief that surfaced. A gentle hand descended on his shoulder and brought him out of his reverie.

"Adiah, it's time to go. They've all left. The grave-tenders will take care of him now…"

The voice belonged to his lover, Kyrrien. The white-haired Dunmer looked at him expectantly, searching Adiah's face for the pain he knew existed beneath his neutral expression.

"Alright…" was the only response Adiah gave. He allowed Kyrrien to take his hand and lead him away from the pyre, towards the small house on the edge of town that served as Adiah's home.

_It used to be home, _he thought,_ but home is nothing without the people that made it so…_

The snow had begun falling a little harder now, turning the thin sheet into a blanket that smothered everything. The mourners had dispersed during Adiah's introspection, his mother included. When he and Kyrrien reached his house, the blonde woman was already there, sitting at the kitchen table. She was in deep thought, fingers steepled before her face. She didn't even look up when her son walked through the wooden door, snow on his shoes. Deciding that it was best not to bother her, Adiah took a direct route to his room, Kyrrien in tow. As soon as his door was closed with a soft click, he sat at the edge of his bed, head in his hands. A lump had formed in his throat by now, and biting his lip was the only thing he could do to keep the tears from flowing.

Kyrrien knelt before him, hands on Adiah's knees. He said nothing, just looked on, waiting for Adiah to speak. The two of them had been friends long before they ever loved, so Kyrrien knew when Adiah's moods were too turbulent to be calmed. At moments like these, he knew it was better just to wait.

"Am I awake, Kyrrien?" he asked, head still resting in his hands, long fingers buried in his hair. "Am I awake, or is this some horrid nightmare?"

Kyrrien pondered how to answer this question carefully. Adiah's composure was resting on a ledge now; any tremor could cause it to fall.

"You're awake, but this is as much a nightmare as any, love…" he said, moving to grip Adiah's forearms. "I wish I could tell you otherwise, but I'd be lying to you."

Adiah looked at him now, amber eyes glassy with unshed tears. His lips were trembling.

"We were so close, Kyrrien. If we had only been there sooner, he wouldn't have—"

"No," Kyrrien interrupted, placing a finger over Adiah's mouth, "Don't start that. His death wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could've done, so don't you dare blame yourself for this. It was _them, _Adiah. _They _did this to him, not you."

Adiah said nothing in response, only lowered his gaze from Kyrrien's crimson eyes. Tears came uncontrollably then, his breaths arriving in short gasps. He couldn't stop it anymore. Kyrrien stood and wrapped his arms around the Altmer's shaking form, resting his chin on top of Adiah's head. No words would bring him any comfort now. The best he could do was hope that his presence was enough…

The two stayed that way, Kyrrien holding Adiah until his tears became fewer and fewer, eventually becoming no more than dried rivers over angular features. Kyrrien wiped away the last one, keeping Adiah's cheek beneath his palm. Adiah felt himself caught between fading grief and rising anger at the situation; Kyrrien had been capable of understanding the sorrow, but he wouldn't understand the niggling hatred that had settled in his gut towards the people who had caused this tragedy in the first place. Kyrrien's family was still there. Still whole.

He slowly stood, bringing Kyrrien with him. The Dunmer still looked at him with concern on his face, hands intertwined with Adiah's.

"You should get home, Kyrrien. It's been dark for a long while, now. You don't want to miss dinner…"

Kyrrien opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it. If this was what Adiah wanted, then he'd concede. He supposed his lover needed some time to sort through his thoughts.

"I'll walk you outside," he continued, gesturing towards the door with their interlocked hands. Kyrrien nodded, following when Adiah let go and walked out of the room. Again, the woman Adiah called mother gave no notice to them when they crossed the hearth. Adiah stopped when he saw her, addressing her sitting form,

"You have nothing to say? Nothing at all?" he asked without a tone, praying to the Eight that she'd speak. Instead, she remained staring at the fire burning in their fireplace, face impassive.

"Fine…" he said, choosing to follow Kyrrien out the main door of the house before he said something that he'd later regret. He inhaled deeply when he walked out into the frozen night air, thankful for the sudden shock it gave him. Kyrrien was leaning on the post of the porch, staring intently at Adiah. Adiah said nothing to him, crossing the threshold with two long steps to stand directly in front of the Dunmer. Kyrrien still wore an unshakeable expression of worry.

"Don't allow yourself to worry about me," Adiah said, feigning some form of complacency, "I'll be fine. I need some time to deal with this on my own."

"If you need me, come by. I don't care what time of night it is, Adiah, if you need me, I'll be there for you."

The warmth in Kyrrien's words brought a smile to Adiah's face despite his inner turmoil. The other mer only wanted to comfort him, that much he knew, but he needed something other than comfort. He just wasn't aware of exactly what that something was…

He pressed a light kiss to Kyrrien's lips then turned away on his heel, ready to escape the cold of the night. He heard Kyrrien descend the steps and assumed he walked off to his own house. It hurt him deeply to turn the slate-skinned mer away so quickly, but there were too many thoughts flying about in his mind to share with Kyrrien. Too many ideas and feelings that he wouldn't understand, that Adiah himself didn't even understand. His mother finally looked up when he opened the door. She looked very much like he did earlier, tears in her eyes and red splotches on her golden skin.

"Adiah…" she said quietly, more to herself than to him.

"Mother," he replied, sitting down across from her at the kitchen table. She didn't say anything, but grasped one of his hands in hers, absentmindedly stroking his thumb. She was far from thinking clearly.

"I'm sorry."

Adiah flinched. He hadn't expected her to say anything, much less apologize to him.

"For what?" he asked, squeezing her hand.

"For spending so much time being Legate Andromeda and not enough time being your mother…" she paused for a moment, licking her lips in a rare gesture of nervousness.

"Maybe if I had been here more, if I'd paid a little more attention, I would've seen the signs earlier. I would have been able to find him before…before it was too late."

She felt as guilty as he did. It was a moment of understanding that they almost never shared. Adiah knew she was hurting as bad as he, but doubted she had the same anger. He managed to restrain his frustration long enough to get out of his seat and hug her to him. They were still family.

_My only family…_

Without another word, he returned to his room and doused the candle on his small, wooden desk. He dressed into his sleepclothes in the darkness, crawling into his bed without a sound. He awaited sleep then, hoping with all his might that it would bring some relief.

Sleep never came. He lay awake in his bed for hours, staring at the ceiling. His mood flip-flopped from sadness to anger at a shattering rate, robbing him of the sleep he so desperately needed. Eventually, Adiah just settled for what he considered to be the lesser of two evils: anger. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense to be angry at his father's death than grieving for it. He didn't die of natural causes; he was stolen from Adiah by the Thalmor. It was they who had torn his family to shreds. An echo of Kyrrien's voice during his breakdown rang in his ears over and over:

"_It was them, Adiah. They did this to him, not you."_

"It was them…" he said to himself, curling his fingers into the wool blanket he was wrapped in. The silent rage that had been brewing in his mind since he lay down to rest finally decided to manifest itself in the form of an idea that caused him to throw off his blankets in a flourish. He was going to leave home. Immediately.

It wasn't until he had packed all his extra clothing into a rucksack that he realized he had no idea where he was going. By Oblivion, he didn't even really know what he was leaving _for, _beyond the desperate need to get some form of revenge on the Thalmor. He knew that it was a ridiculous notion to think that he could do anything to destroy them, anything to make them suffer for the atrocities they had committed against his family. Even amongst the hopelessness, he couldn't allow himself to continue suffocating in the house that held too many memories. He was going to leave, regardless of if he found a way to eradicate them or not. It was the only option that made sense to him.

Looking back, he supposed that the impulsive and driving urge just to _get out_ was responsible for the successful sneaking out of his deathly quiet home. The wind had stopped howling from the blizzard, and the air was still outside the single-paned windows of the house he'd once called home. Adiah feared that his mother would be awakened by the sound of his footsteps on the wooden floor, amplified as they were by the absolute silence. He crept out his door lightly, rucksack over his thin shoulder and eyes widened to take in as much light as he could in the darkness. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, nervousness and thrill reassuring him that this was indeed the best decision for him. He didn't close the door, instead opting to make a beeline for the front door. He thought briefly about grabbing some food, but further impulse drove him to leave as fast as possible. _Hmm, _he thought as he crossed the threshold, opening the front door as quietly as possible, _I'll probably regret that later._

The blonde mer closed the door as silently as he had opened it, the latch securing with a soft 'click.' With his mind carefully planning each step, he turned away from the house and didn't look back. He was going to take his father's horse from the stables, get on and ride away, never stopping or sparing a return glance towards the pathetic little town. He was going to banish it and all the memories that went along with it to the deepest corners of his mind, opting instead to look forward to all he could accomplish with such a lofty goal in view. The prospect chilled him, but it was oddly exciting to be on that kind of precipice.

The grey mare that had once been his father's whinnied softly to him as he approached. She tossed her head in a friendly gesture of greeting, completely unaware that she would never see her true master again. Adiah gently stroked her smooth nose, trying with slight difficulty to squash the emotions that rose into the forefront of his thoughts as he looked at the horse. There were so many memories attached to this animal, the very kind of memories that he was trying to escape. Choosing to avoid facing those emotions directly, he opted instead to grab his saddle and throw it on her back, tightening the girth with one tug.

"Cyanna," he said to her when she looked back at him, "I believe it's time for both of us to move on."

Cyanna regarded him for a moment with her large, brown eyes before turning back to face the dark, breath coming out of her nostrils in plumes from the cold. She didn't step away when Adiah mounted her back after slipping the bit in her mouth. She waited for a moment, looking around for something that Adiah could only guess about. He hoped she wasn't curious as to why someone other than his father was riding her. The thought made his stomach lurch sickly. With a slight kick to her thick sides, he urged the grey mare out of her stall and into the snow-coated roadway, trotting down the road as fluidly as he could get her to. Nearly all the houses in town were lightless and quiet, the sound of Cyanna's hooves on the stones all that much louder as she moved on. Families were asleep, children quiet and warm in their beds. Adiah didn't stop to inspect any of them until he reached a home that was still lit on the opposite edge of town. He knew the house well, and could clearly see one of the residents through the panes of one of the large windows on its face. The Dunmer was holding a cup of some form of warm beverage, white hair pulled up in a haphazard bun. He looked sleepless, unhappy. _Kyrrien,_ Adiah thought as he watched his lover sip from the ceramic cup, staring straight ahead. He didn't dare venture too close to the house, afraid that he might draw Kyrrien's attention. He'd try to make him stay, that much was obvious. Of all the things Adiah had on his mind, the last thing he needed was to consider the reasoning of Kyrrien. He was far too convincing and Adiah didn't want to be convinced.

With one last look at Kyrrien's wakeful form in the firelight, he urged Cyanna on again. The mare, however, wasn't expecting to be jolted. She let out a loud neigh that echoed in the chilled air, carrying far. Kyrrien's head snapped towards the window. He must've seen the horse and rider, as his expression changed from one of thoughtfulness to alarm instantaneously. Adiah knew he'd been caught, but didn't care. He forced Cyanna into a run with a loud "Yah!" hoping she'd move fast enough to be beyond Kyrrien's reach. The Dunmer came running out his door, underdressed for the weather in his night clothes. He watched with a heavy heart as his love ran off, unsure of why or what had caused him to leave in such a manner. He didn't even feel the cold biting at his skin as he stared off at the retreating form of the Altmer, feeling his heart split as he did. The more he watched, the more it divided…Adiah never looked back.

Ahead, on the road, Adiah struggled to keep his eyes ahead. He couldn't look back, _wouldn't_ look back. It would hurt too much.

"I'm sorry, Kyrrien," he said to himself and the night wind, "I'm sorry…"

**A/N: By Oblivion, this chapter took forever. It's tough to write AND beta your own work! If anyone's interested in helping me beta, I would be most appreciative. Let me know!**


	2. A Path to Follow

**By the Eight and One, two updates in one day! Truthfully, those who know me can hardly believe it. I'm just glad I've gotten this far. XD**

**As will be a trend with these side notes, I don't own anything Elder Scrolls. :)**

**On to the next!**

**- Hurricane**

* * *

As fate would have it, Adiah began to regret leaving Morthal after about six hours on the road. He'd had to outrun angry bandits, angry sabre cats, angry wolves and one very disturbed woman who kept asking him to "Wabbajack" her (the latter had the most profound effect on his level of regret; she was the scariest creature yet.) By the time he'd managed to evade most of these with only minor damages to his psyche, Cyanna's sides were heaving and his nerves were shot. He held onto the reins with shaking hands, desperate for a bright fire, some warm tea, and the comfort of Kyrrien. Noting that he was not only worn out from the close encounters on his small journey but was also sleep-deprived, the mer decided to seek out some form of shelter. A small, seemingly-abandoned bandit outpost lay ahead of the horse and rider, beckoning to them like a beacon in a storm. Adiah let out a sigh of relief, thankful that luck seemed to be (temporarily) on his side. Granted, the tiny tent wouldn't provide that much shelter from the elements. Weighing his options, he decided to go for it anyways.

Adiah had to admit that he didn't expect a hulking Orc and his ladyfriend (who was almost as large as her husband) to come out of the tent with weapons drawn as he approached. The Orc man wielded a gargantuan war axe, brandishing it with an animalistic snarl. He didn't even bother to warn Adiah when he charged, running full-force with every intention of getting rid of the Altmeri intruder and his equine companion; no-one was permitted on his turf- NO-ONE. He even yelled it aloud as he dug his heels into the frozen roadway, wife following with a longsword in hand. Adiah barely had time to react to the threat: his only thought was _run. Run fast. NOW!_ He gripped the reins tightly, sharply turning Cyanna away from the onrushing Orc alliance. Fortunately, the horse knew how much trouble they'd managed to get into and bolted, strong legs plowing into the ground. She carried them away as fast as she could, eyes wild. The Orc pair refused to give up the chase, running at horrifying speeds behind them as they moved. Adiah's stomach twitched when he looked back and saw that they weren't falling behind but were actually _gaining_ speed.

"Go, go, _GO!_" he yelled to Cyanna, praying that her thick, drafty legs would move faster than they currently were. He understood that the mare had never been anything but a workhorse and had already done more than enough running for one day, but her life _and _his were at stake! If either wanted to live, she'd have to put aside her fatigue and run like she really meant it. The Orcs didn't seem perturbed by her slight increase in speed- they kept up, yelling expletives at Adiah as they waved their massive weapons in his direction. By now, Adiah was barely paying attention to his surroundings. He didn't need to until the blur of trees was replaced by stone walls. Cyanna had run him into the courtyard of a fort, the bulwarks serving more to trap them in than keep out their enemies. '_Great,'_ he thought to himself as he rapidly searched for an alternate escape route, '_If I wasn't dead back at the tent, I certainly am now!' _ Sure enough, the Orcs had managed to box them in. They were entering the courtyard, looking around for their prey. Their footsteps crunching in the snow alerted the Altmer to their presence and location, sending chills down his spine. He was no match for these warriors, and he was a sitting duck in the far corner of the courtyard. Deciding that Cyanna could find her way home without him and had a better chance of survival than he did, he dismounted her and slapped her hindquarters. She reared and took off, blowing right past his pursuers who gave her a peculiar glance as she passed them, no doubt curious as to why the large animal was now without a rider.

With Cyanna out of the picture, Adiah had another escape opportunity. He had noticed a wooden door leading to the interior of the fort when he was looking for a way out on the horse; it was an obvious choice to find a hiding spot inside, provided he didn't have her to worry about. With the careful deliberate movements of a fugitive on the run, he opened it quickly and stepped inside, closing the door as quietly as possible.

The interior of the fort looked as if someone had already made their way through and eradicated anything that got in its path. There were corpses of what appeared to be hedge necromancers on the weathered stone floor, draugr scattered amongst them in what could only be described as a battle of extremely messy proportions. Adiah stepped lightly over the bodies, careful not to disturb any. He was unsure how well-trained in tracking the Orcs were, but he didn't want to give them any clues as to his whereabouts in the fort. By now, he assumed that they had also found their way inside. After a half-hour had passed without him hearing or seeing them, he figured that they were dumber than he expected and had given up on chasing the skinny mer that had invaded their property. Adiah heaved a sigh of relief, leaning up against a torch-holding pillar. For the first time since he left, he found himself able to breathe correctly.

"Thank the Eight," he whispered to himself, running a still-shaking hand through his fine hair. He sank down to the ground, resting his back against the pillar and closing his tired eyes. He was able to take a few more deep breaths before a low, gurgling growl drew his attention like a flash of lightning. He stood sharply, scanning the area for the source of the noise. One of the necromancers was clearly not as dead as he had initially thought. The undead Breton stood shakily and headed towards him at an unexpected speed, sword in hand and eyes aglow with arcane energy. Adiah felt his blood go cold and his mind go blank. He did the only thing he knew how to and called a bound sword to him, holding it in front of his body like a shield. When the Breton zombie neared him, he struck at it, hoping to land a decent hit. It sailed too wide, missing his undead opponent who retaliated with a much more accurate slice, drawing blood from Adiah's forearm. He jumped back, getting a clearer view of the creature. He was driven now by impulse, desperately swinging at the advancing creature. One of the haphazard swings hit its mark in the neck of the Breton, causing it to collapse into a pile of ash at his feet. He didn't realize it was gone until he smelled the pungent odor of burnt flesh wafting from what was left of the thing. So, he had unwittingly closed his eyes when he swung.

"Good job, Adiah," he reprimanded himself, "That's the way to face an opponent."

The bound sword dissipated into wisps of indigo smoke. He looked at his palm, inhaling deeply to steady himself. He conceded to the fact that he had no real idea how to fight; most of what he did know was the arcane art of Conjuration, and he only knew a little of that. The feeling of being in way over his head started to overwhelm him then, sinking into his heart like deadweight. The prospect of travelling alone hadn't seemed so horrifying when he left, but the urge to return home to warmth and safety seemed more appealing than ever.

_"You can't go back," _said a voice from deep within his thoughts, _"What could you do if you did? You promised to get rid of them. You PROMISED…"_

So he had. Getting rid of the Thalmor was his purpose now, not dwelling on what he should've done. The thought renewed his resolve, allowed him to summon a new sword, patch his wound and begin exploring his temporary residence. He walked down several hallways, taking out more zombies as he went. He still fought poorly, but at least the uncoordinated sword-swinging got the job done. A few of them fought back enough to give him some injuries that he didn't bother to repair. However, as he went on, he began to realize two things: the necromancers that had hid in the fort prior to being decimated had more on their minds than casual dead-raising and that whoever destroyed them was a powerful individual. Very powerful. They must've wielded some combination of sorcery and swordsmanship, for the dispatched bodies bore marks of both. His suspicions about the necromancer cult weren't confirmed until he made his way to the inner sanctum at the center of the fort.

The room itself was small and circular, lit by swiftly shrinking candles. The body of a deceased Altmer lay at the base of an altar that held what appeared to be a human skeleton and an odd-looking staff that was nearly as long as the body. It was clear to Adiah that some form of ritual was supposed to have taken place here. He figured it might've been interrupted by the intruder that had killed the leading mer, as much of the room was in disarray. Books littered the floor, various supplies knocked off of shelves that had broken. Adiah's curiosity was piqued by the scene in its entirety, but nothing drew his attention quite like the staff. It was lengthy, made out of what appeared to be two types of bone, twined together in a corkscrew. The most bizarre part of it was the top, which consisted of two skeletal hands gripping a skull. The air around it hummed with energy, leading Adiah to believe it was enchanted. An open book lay next to it, showing a well-drawn sketch of the staff with an entire page of notes written in careful script on the opposite page. Adiah picked it up gently, examining it.

'_We have uncovered the Staff. Rornir didn't think we'd manage to find it. Certainly proved him wrong. It is as powerful as all the lore described it to be; through no effort of the caster, it resurrects the dead in perfect form. I'm thrilled at the thought of such power, but thrilled even more deeply by the sheer thought of holding the Staff of Worms in my hands. I got a chill holding it for the first time. I now understand why it was so essential to Him. Oh well, the King of Worms probably isn't missing it. From what our sources have told us, he resides somewhere near the forsaken township that is Winterhold, rotting in Bleakcoast Cave (maybe he got rid of the trolls.) As if he'd really be concerned enough to seek out his artifact; the lich is probably as pathetic as the city, given his defeat during the Oblivion crisis. No matter, it belongs to us now. Well, it belongs to me.' _

Adiah flipped a few more pages in the book, intrigued. He'd heard the moniker "King of Worms" before, in an old tale his father used to read to him at bedtime. The staff that lay before him supposedly belonged to this individual, which meant it had to have been stolen from him at some point in history and if he was a lich, it could have been a very long time ago. A few more pages of sketches and meaningless notes later he came across what appeared to be parts of a poem, copied out of another book:

_'Ten score years and thirty since the mighty Remans fell, two brilliant students studied within the Psijics' fold. One's heart was light and warm, the other dark and cold. The madder latter, Mannimarco, whirled in a deathly dance, his soul in bones and worms, the way of the necromance. Entrapping and enslaving souls, he cast a wicked spell…They brought to him these tools, mad wizards and witches, and brought blood-tainted herbs and oils to his cave of sin, Sweet Akaviri poison, dust from saints, sheaves of human skin, toadstools, roots, and much more cluttered his alchemical shelf, like a spider in his web, he sucked all their power into himself, Mannimarco, Worm King, world's first of the undying liches…A thousand good and evil perished then, history confirms. Among, alas, Vanus Galerion, he who showed the way, it seemed once that Mannimarco had truly died that day. Scattered seemed the Necromancers, wicked, ghastly fools, back to the Mages Guild, victors kept the accursed tools, Of him, living still in undeath, Mannimarco, King of Worms…'_

The pages after that were blank. So the staff belonged to an ancient lich by the name of Mannimarco. Adiah recognized the poem now, remembering how he used to regard his father with an expression of curiosity and well-hidden wonder as he read aloud the tale of the King of Worms. The thought of a person like that was like a weapon in a display case; it was dangerous, but its destructive glory was what made it something amazing to behold. Mannimarco was that weapon, that untouchable creature from myth. The more he thought about it, the more an idea grew in the back of his mind. Here was the Staff of Worms, a priceless artifact lost to its owner, and here was he, in possession of a way to return it to said owner. Another part of him was screaming that it was a bad idea to even consider seeking out the lich, but once again Adiah didn't pay any heed to it. It was a start, after all. Perhaps he could learn from this ancient mage, Oblivion knew he had a lot to learn before he could even be considered competent. Now secure in his decision, he changed into a set of magicka-amplifying black robes and attached the ungainly staff to his back with a leather strap. He supposed he looked like the typical rogue mage to the average onlooker, but thought it might be best to look as if he had _some_ idea as to what he was doing. It was better than looking like the lost puppy he must've appeared as earlier.

For extra security in his new mission, Adiah snagged the helpful book along with the staff. He shoved the tome in his rucksack, tucking it away safely. With one last glance about the odd room, he dismantled the bar on the alternate exit and found his way out of the fort. The temperature had decreased into the realm of the absolutely bone-chilling, causing Adiah to take the fur from one of the dead bandits outside the fort's walls for his own use. He realized with a shock of disappointment that he no longer had a horse to ride and an actual destination that would be quite a walk without one. He hoped that Cyanna had made it home safely, deciding subconsciously that it was really for the best if he was on foot. Having her there would make everything far more complicated than it needed to be. He left the fort then, stifling chills. If Winterhold was where he needed to go, then Winterhold was where he was off to.


	3. Absolutely, Hopelessly Lost

**Hello, Hurricane here.**

**I really have no excuse. This chapter's been sitting in document folder for over a month.**

**I need a sense of urgency. And a beta-reader.**

**As always, I own nothing but my own characters. Like, dislike, I write for my own enjoyment. I can only wish that it would bring others a fraction of the happiness it brings me to write.**

* * *

He had left the necromancer's fort more than a week ago. The time since had been uneventful, the only threats to his fragile security manifesting in the form of Rockjoint-infested skeevers and the occasional flustered, terrritorial bandit. By now, he was sure he was pointed in the right direction and nearing his destination. Winterhold, from what he recalled in the maps and books, was relatively close to Morthal. A small voice in the back of Adiah's mind began to question if he was really going the right way when the snow on the ground faded to dry, crispy grass and the howling wind turned to the babbling of waterfalls. On his way, he had managed to seek out the assistance of a Khajiit wearing a nice set of blue robes. The friendly-if-not-somewhat-sketchy feline had told him to follow this road, so he hadn't deviated from the advice.

A sinking feeling in the bottom of his gut told him that he probably should never have given the words a second consideration. M'Aiq wouldn't have lied to him, would he? What would he have to gain from pointing a desperate Altmer in the wrong direction? Why would he waste his time?

_Why, in the name of Oblivion would you be stupid enough not to think it over, Adiah?_

He kept walking a while longer, still mulling over the thought of being ridiculously lost and more than a week behind schedule. He knew he had been ridiculously naïve when he had just accepted the directions without question, and now Winterhold was as close as a dream. As night turned to dawn, the mer stopped on an ancient stone bridge, deciding it was best to give himself a break and really think about his next move. If he was indeed as lost as he thought he could be, he needed to find the _right _way to get to Winterhold.

He sat down on the thick edge of the bridge and heaved a sigh, realizing that the scenery around him was actually quite magnificent in the dim, pale light of breaking day. The bridge was old but beautiful, two dragons arching over its crest like sentinels. The chilled river below it chattered happily in the soft morning breeze, ruffling the long water grasses along its edge. The air smelled like freshly fallen leaves and woodfires, hints of the autumn that was nearing in every temperate gust. He allowed himself to get lost in the pleasant sensations for a moment before deciding that his current path was better than none at all, hoping that he was in the right and that the name "Winterhold" was really just a misnomer. The rest of the early morning was spent admiring the rest of the area, waiting for the doors of the nearest town to open. When the residents woke and set up for the day, he stopped in one of the quaint stores for a moment to refresh his meager supply of essentials. It was only a small village that lay just ahead of the Dragon Bridge, and Adiah decided it was best to not talk to any of the simple, rustic people that smiled at him when he purchased his wares. As he left, walking at a slow-yet-consistent pace, Adiah began to think about how similar the quiet, little town was to Morthal. Its people had simple expectations, an even simpler existence; the farmers and artisans wanted nothing more from life than a warm hearth and a healthy family, perhaps a little extra gold to buy them something nice when the time was right. It was a unique perspective, but one he was beginning to appreciate. He looked down at his moving feet, realizing with sudden certainty that he could never go back to that. He'd left it behind as soon as he and Cyanna ran out of the city with snow flying from their heels. The Altmer decided that the thought of going back was more terrifying than that of not being able to. All he could do was keep walking, following the path he'd laid out for himself. _Get to Winterhold. Find Mannimarco. Give back the staff. Learn from him. Kill them. Kill them all._

Lost in his thoughts, Adiah let his legs carry him onwards. He paid little attention to the beauty of his surroundings since he left Dragon Bridge and barely shook out of his reverie when some potential threat had the audacity to draw his gaze. He was on a mission and couldn't afford to get distracted by things that didn't need his undivided attention.

"You're going to regret this!"

He looked up just in time to dodge the roughly-forged sword of a Forsworn warrior. He had managed to amble onto a plot of land that belonged to the cult of crazed Bretons and had just kept walking in complete ignorance when they threatened him with bodily harm if he got any closer. Deep in thought as he was, Adiah didn't realize they were even speaking. He sure knew they were now as he backed up quickly, summoning a sword of his own in preparation for the next assault. He really didn't understand what he'd done to make them so angry. It wasn't as if he'd killed their chickens…

The Breton swung at him again, aiming for his abdomen. The scrawny mer managed to avoid it, slashing out at the assailant. His blond hair had come free of its binds and hung in lengthy curtains around his angular face, blocking his view of the four other attackers that had managed to sneak up on him in his rush to defend himself against the first. The others had a threatening assortment of weapons raised and readied in his direction, two of them lunging at him as soon as he turned to face them. Three of the scantily-armoured Forsworn jumped him at once, slicing and swinging wildly. Most of their attempts missed as he frantically tried to dodge, but one well-handled iron axe managed to embed itself in his right shoulder, leaving a horribly bleeding gash in its wake. The apparent leader of the group noticed the break in their prey's defenses and rushed forward, greatsword held high above his antlered head. Adiah closed his eyes and drew in a breath, bracing his body for what was sure to be the end of him. Words couldn't describe his shock when the darkness never came.

* * *

The Dunmer called Kaviris Mystravos was having a good day. He had left Markarth with a bag full of successfully stolen goods (courtesy of the Temple of Dibella), a pocket full of pilfered gold and a stomach full of better food than he'd had in months. Given the completion of the heists without a snag, he could practically taste the promotion to Nightingale that he'd been after for years. The Guild appreciated and respected him now more than ever, so it was only a matter of time before he was wearing the highly sought-after armour of a leader and could communicate with Nocturnal herself. He walked casually down the worn stone road away from the city, enjoying the sounds and sights of the path well-travelled. The river was bubbling over the rocks, the birds were singing in the trees and a loud yell accompanied by the sounds of iron hitting iron filled the air. Hmph.

He stopped, black-lined crimson eyes drawn to a fight that had unfolded on the side of the road ahead of him: a group of five raging Forsworn had cornered what appeared to be a novice Altmer mage and were beating the life out of him as he desperately tried to fight them off. The near-prone mer was armed only with a fading bound sword that he clearly didn't know how to use. The mage was undoubtedly going to die if someone didn't intervene. Kaviris thought on this conundrum for a moment, and then brandished his life-draining ebony dagger. _Might as well,_ he thought as he ran towards the greatsword-wielding Briarheart, _What do I have to lose?_

When Adiah had the bravery to open his tightly-closed eyes, he was astonished at the sight before him. A wiry, leather armour-clad Dunmer was picking off his attackers one by one with no more than a dagger. The Briarheart fell to the ground, bleeding profusely from a slice in his neck. Adiah scooted backwards away from the pooling blood, eyes never leaving the skilled warrior's form. He found himself staring as the remaining four fell dead, amazed and minutely jealous of the individual that had saved his life. He stared for a while, not even noticing when the other mer walked up to him and regarded him with an expression of amusement and curiosity written on his sharp features.

"For an Altmer mage, you certainly didn't put up a fight," he said, laughing lightly and giving Adiah's still-sitting figure a swift kick.

"Excuse me," he replied, moving to stand, "but I had everything perfectly under control."

The Dunmer raised a pronounced eyebrow.

"Oh," he said, looking around at his victims, "Clearly. That explains why I had to save your pathetic excuse of a life."

His…savior was a good deal shorter than he with short, thick black hair that stood off his forehead in a sweep while the rest of it flew around in every direction. His skin was darker than Kyrrien's, a rich shade of deep blue-grey. He had an unshakeable air of self-confidence, standing with a gloved hand on his thin hip as he regarded Adiah's features with smirk on his lips.

"You didn't _have _to save me. It's relatively common for adventurers to be killed on the road. Why intervene?"

The dark-haired mer considered this for a moment before shrugging and gesturing to the still-bleeding wound on Adiah's shoulder.

"I suppose I had nothing better to do. Though, truth be told, it was rather depressing to watch them decimate you so easily. I've been having a very good day and the last thing I wanted was to witness some Forsworn smear a weak little mer all over the cobblestones."

Adiah was affronted. He knew he wasn't…the best at fighting battles, but to call him "weak" and "pathetic" was pushing boundaries that hadn't been pushed by anyone in the past.

"Well, thank you," he said, smiling venomously at the mocking Dunmer as he tried to restore his shoulder, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm trying to get to Winterhold."

Adiah began walking in the direction he'd been going before being so rudely interrupted. He didn't look back at the Dunmer until he heard him call out.

"Did you say Winterhold?" he asked, wiping the dagger on his pants before sheathing it. Adiah turned around and regarded him with a look that said, _Where else would I be going?_ The slate-skinned mer appeared to struggle to find words for a moment before bursting out in sudden laughter. Once more, Adiah was taken aback by the gall of the man who'd saved his life. He was laughing. _Laughing._

"What is so funny?" he demanded, stomping angrily back to the scene of the fight and the gasping Dunmer.

"You!" he answered between guffaws, "Do you have ANY idea where you are?"

Adiah blinked a few times, considering how to answer.

"I'm on the way to Winterhold," he replied, nose in the air. The Dunmer only laughed harder.

"You're closer to Markarth than Winterhold! Did you really think you were going the right way? Didn't you start to get suspicious when there wasn't any damn snow on the ground?" he said, laughter finally slowing. His expression sobered when Adiah remained silent, staring at his feet.

"You really are that lost, aren't you?"

"Why don't you just tell me where I need to go?" Adiah spoke, amber eyes locked onto the flaming red ones of his companion.

"Fine," he answered grudgingly, laughter fully subsided, "Turn around and follow that road until you reach Windhelm, then go north." The Altmer stared at him piercingly before nodding his thanks and turning on his heel, head held high in false dignity. He managed to go a few feet before a loud "Wait!" caused him to stop. The Dunmer had caught up to him, a sly smile on his face.

"What would you say if I offered to take you to Winterhold?"

Adiah considered this, eyeing the mysterious individual before him with a suspicious glance.

"I'd ask what you wanted in return, and then I'd say 'lead on' if the request was reasonable," he answered, arms crossed and lips pursed.

Kaviris knew the Altmer was desperate. He could see it in the way he puffed up in response to his questions, in the way that he halted so quickly when he'd called. After going through everything he needed to accomplish, Kaviris decided he could spare a trip to Winterhold. After all, he had a very efficient fence in the College and some very expensive items to pawn off. Why not? If he was going to continue his streak of acts on impulse, he might as well. This mer needed help. Serious help. Kaviris was just being generous, after all.

"How much gold do you have on you?" he asked. The Altmer hesitated for a moment before reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a large coin purse. He placed it unceremoniously in Kaviris' hand, face blank.

"5,000 septims. Take me to Winterhold and it's all yours. By Oblivion, you can have it now. I don't have any real use for it…"

Kaviris thought about asking why giving away all his gold brought an expression of sadness instead of anger to his elven features, but thought better of it and held his tongue. He extended his hand to the Altmer, trying his best to appear more benevolent than when he'd been laughing at his new companion's plight.

"Kaviris Mystravos," he said as Adiah accepted the handshake with a firm grip.

"Adiah," he responded, pushing hair out of his eyes with his free hand.

"Well, Adiah," Kaviris said with what Adiah could tell was his trademark smirk, "I suggest we get moving. Forsworn rarely live in groups that small, and you could end up their next meal if we stick around."

Kaviris started off in the direction Adiah had come from, sparing a look back at the Altmer that hadn't budged.

"So?" he asked, stalled in stride, "Are you coming or would you rather wait around for them to kill you?"

Composing himself, Adiah jogged after his Dunmer companion, hopeful and nervous about what would come of their partnership. Regardless of how it turned out, at least he could say he was back on track. He watched Kaviris' back as they followed the road, praying that this decision was for the best.

_Please Divines, let me have made the right choice…_


	4. Brotherhood of the Travelling Glare

**Though uploaded in the same day, three and four were written seperately. **

**Actually, this massive beast of a chapter was supposed to be split in two, but I didn't realize that until after I'd written it. **

**Still beta-reader searching. Harumph.**

**I don't own anything except that which already belongs to me. **

* * *

"So, let me get this straight," Kaviris said, eyeing Adiah curiously as they walked, "You left Morthal in a flourish, ran into some blood-crazed Orcs that drove you into the fort where you found that Oblivion-damned staff, decide to return said staff to its owner, followed some ambiguous directions from a Khajiit and ended up in Forsworn territory instead of Winterhold?"

Adiah nodded, head hung in shame. When Kaviris worded it like that, it made him seem incredibly dense. _You ARE incredibly dense, _he thought to himself with deprecating resignation, _and you know he's right._

"Yes, you've followed along quite efficiently. As much as I appreciate your conversation, I could've done without the barely-hidden laughter in your voice…" the blonde replied, words laced with irritation. Kaviris only shook his head and snickered.

"I just can't believe that you'd get _that _lost! It's not as if you went on a little misguided detour, like say…to Solitude, you managed to make it all the way to Dragon Bridge before you realized something was off. How did you do it? Were you just too distracted to notice that everything looked wrong or did you honestly believe you were going in the right direction?"

This time, Adiah didn't respond. He picked up his pace, long legs stretching wide as he tried to get away from the Dunmer's incessant mocking. Since they'd left the scene of his little Forsworn incident, the older male had done nothing but pick at him about something or another. His skinny build, his lack of training, his poor sense of direction…all was fair game to the man who had saved his life. They'd been on the road for two days now, and the comments hadn't ceased. Adiah rubbed his temples as he walked, hoping that doing so would calm the headache that had festered since their conversation began.

* * *

Kaviris tried to stop making fun of the bony Altmer. Really, he did, but the reactions he drew from him were too priceless to discard. Adiah became so flustered every time he made a comment about his obvious inadequacies, and it only made him want to insult the fragile mer more. The thief supposed he felt an infinitesimal amount of guilt for prodding so much, but it had been a while since anyone reacted to him this way. After all, he was still doing the whiny mage a service: he didn't _have_ to lead him to Winterhold, he was doing it out of the goodness of his heart (and the depths of his pockets). As such, he felt entitled to some…well-mannered button-pushing when the moment called for it, which was more often than not. Deciding it was best to remain at least a little bit personable, Kaviris donned a warm smile and laid a hand on Adiah's shoulder.

"Relax, Adiah, I'm just messing with you. Though, I still can't imagine how you managed to get so hopelessly lost…"

Well, he had meant to be personable. Oh well.

Adiah halted in his path, glaring daggers at his escort. He wore an expression of affronted disbelief, arms crossed.

"You really don't know when to stop, do you?" he asked angrily, brows furrowed in frustration. Kaviris turned and stood his ground, returning the mage's cold stare.

"I know a useless person when I see one," the Dunmer replied harshly, not caring that his retort was sharper than the dagger at his hip. Adiah bit his lip as if trying to restrain himself from saying something he'd regret.

"Useless?" he asked, "I'm useless?"

Something in the taller male snapped. He walked forward briskly, coming to a stop in front of Kaviris. He stared down at the slate-skinned mer, fuming.

"You didn't have to do this, Mystravos," he said, jabbing a long finger into Kaviris' chest, "You could've let me die on the side of the road, but instead you _chose_ to lead me to Winterhold. Don't whine that I'm useless when you could've gone on your merry little way without ever having me in the picture!"

Kaviris slapped his hand away, face contorting in anger.

"You could at least _pretend_ to be worth something!" he exclaimed, pushing Adiah away from him with both hands to his undefined chest. "I'm not your Eight-damn babysitter, you pathetic s'wit! Without me here, you would be dead, and although I'd be slightly less rich, my life would be a thousand times easier!"

Eyes burning, Adiah raised his hand as if to strike out at Kaviris, but lowered it. He knew the other mer would best him even if he tried his best, so he settled for shaking his head in fury. He opened his mouth to reply, readying himself for an even fiercer (and perhaps less petty) argument when a loud rumble shook the sky above them. Kaviris' heart froze in his chest, silently praying that it wasn't a dragon. The last thing they needed was to be fighting an eons-old winged beast as well as each other... His prayers were answered when a flash of lightning split the dark-grey sky, an ear-shattering peal of thunder following suit. Adiah looked up to the heavens as his companion did the same, feeling the first few drops of rain hit his forehead. He dropped his amber eyes to Kaviris, look of absolute dejection on his sharp features. A few more drops began to fall until an all-out torrent was pouring out of the saturated clouds and onto the disgruntled pair of mer. Resigning himself to the overall unfortunate circumstance, Kaviris sighed and pulled up his black hood.

"Come on," he said to Adiah, surveying the surroundings for any sign of shelter, "We have to get out of this."

The tall mer, looking every bit a half-drowned puppy, only nodded and followed his companion grudgingly. The rain was cold and he knew he wouldn't last long on this trip being both an inept fighter _and_ an invalid.

_You have no choice, Adiah. Just bite the iron and suck it up. It's all means to an end…_

They didn't find shelter until shortly after dark. By then, both were soaked through and shivering from the unrelenting cold. The pounding rain had turned to sleet, leaving a thin layer of ice on everything it touched, living, dead and inanimate. Adiah pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and turned to Kaviris who was appraising the opening of a cave that lead into the side of the mountains.

"This will have to be good enough," the older male said, gesturing for Adiah to follow as he stalked carefully into the cavern's opening. Adiah readily chased after him, eager to seek respite from the unforgiving Skyrim weather. He heaved a sigh of relief when he no longer felt the pelting drops on his robed form. He didn't even notice that Kaviris had stopped short until he ran into the shorter mer whose attention was on the ceiling above them.

"What're you doing? We need to—"

Adiah halted mid-sentence as he drew his eyes to the roof of the cavern passage. It was alight with various glimmering crystals, each emitting its own soft aura in the dark of the pathway. He smiled in wonderment, reaching up to touch one of the glowing stones.

"They're beautiful…" he said, unsure if it was to himself or to Kaviris. Kaviris assumed the latter and nodded, slowly walking forward while keeping his eyes on the crystals.

"Yes, I'd have to agree with you on that. I wonder why no one's been in here to harvest them…"

The sound of rocks shifting snapped him out of his reverie. The thief was suddenly on the alert, throwing an arm out in front of Adiah to stop him. He placed a finger over his lips in the gesture of '_be quiet'_ before drawing his dagger slowly. Adiah summoned a sword and held it in front of him, nodding when Kaviris looked at him for confirmation.

A sharp, inhuman screech filled the air as the two neared the entrance to the center of the small cave. A pale, eyeless creature sprung at them, crudely-made sword lashing out with deadly intent. It screeched again, two more springing from their odd-looking tents. Adiah felt his blood go cold as he looked at the monsters, readying himself for the oncoming attack. One rushed him, landing a small slice on his stomach before he could leap out of the way. Clutching the bleeding wound with one hand, he fought back fiercely, teeth bared. He'd come too far to be eradicated by some mutants from underground. He parried with the misshapen demon, ending its life with a stab to the heart when it stumbled over a boulder and opened its defenses. He ignored the pain in his stomach as he pulled his ethereal sword from the Falmer's body, glancing quickly around the cavern for Kaviris.

The Dunmer was locked in a vicious battle with an opponent vastly more experienced than the poorly trained footsoldier Adiah had fought. It growled furiously as it pressed down on Kaviris' raised arms, trying with all its might to disarm him; one of Kaviris' daggers was dangerously close to the place where its eye should've been.

_One, two…_Adiah counted hurriedly, taking stock of his adversaries. One was dead, the second was at an impasse, battling with Kaviris. _Where's the third?!_

A shape materialized out of the shadows as Kaviris and the stronger Falmer broke their stance, returning to a more fast-paced swordfight. The third creature had manage to disappear completely until its opportunity came to sneak up on the preoccupied pair, ugly bow drawn and loaded and _aimed straight at the Dunmer's head. _

Adiah didn't even have time to think about what he was doing. He held his left hand aloft, tendrils of cold swirling out as he took aim. A single spear of ice flew from his palm, embedding itself securely in the skull of the third assailant. Kaviris ended his battle with a swift slice to an unprotected throat, turning quickly as he heard the last opponent's dying yelp, an expression of frightened surprise as he realized that it was falling to the ground dead.

Adiah stood still, breathing heavily. He lowered his hand as Kaviris sheathed his dagger, kicking the dead creature off his foot. He gave Adiah an unreadable look, though clearly still shocked.

"How's that for useless?" the taller mer asked, smirk present on his full lips. Kaviris lowered his head, then smiled.

"Better than I expected. I guess we're even, Adiah…"

* * *

Following the battle, the pair decided it was best to make their temporary living arrangements as comfortable as possible. The carcasses of the Falmer had been thrown unceremoniously outside, at Adiah's request. A fire had been built in the small center room, a decent light that both felt might keep away some of the bitter cold. The tents made and used by their former opponents, though roughly built and overtly hideous, were suitable shelters. While the mer felt their overnight home was a bit unsatisfactory, neither could bring themselves to leave to find better. They had fallen into a strange, uncomfortable silence once the tents had been set up and the fire was built. They sat on the rocky ground across the fire from one another, quiet permeating the chilled air. Kaviris watched Adiah's face, wondering when he'd finally speak. After more moments passed without words, he broke the ice with a question he'd been pondering for a decent while.

"What made you leave your home?"

Adiah looked up at him, curious.

"Why leave when you knew you had little experience? What was so important that you had to risk your life to do it?" Kaviris said quietly, shifting to a more comfortable position. Adiah didn't reply to him right away, thinking about the best way to answer. He was moderately shocked that the Dunmer thief was generally interested in his life, almost pleased by the thought of some camaraderie between himself and the typically blunt man. Deciding it was best to be as honest as he could, he began with a heavy sigh.

"My father was a Thalmor long before I was born, a record keeper at the Embassy. He met my mother during a council and made the decision to leave them, knowing he could make a better life for himself without their atrocities on his mind. He escaped from them, got married, and began our family. The Thalmor never stopped searching for him, though. He was a dissenter, after all. He was able to lay low for twenty-one years before an agent found him and alerted the ones who were searching…" he paused for a moment, gauging Kaviris' reaction. The other male only looked on interestedly, chin on his palm. Encouraged, Adiah kept going.

"They captured him when my mother and I were on a routine trip to Solitude for essentials we couldn't buy in Morthal. He was there when we left, then poof! Gone when we returned. They brought him to the Embassy and held him there for three years. By the time we knew he was there, it was too late…" Adiah hesitated a moment more, on his own account. The wounds were still fresh, still bleeding on the surface of his heart. Knowing that he'd explained too much to stop, he swallowed the lump in his throat, steeling himself for the rest of the tale.

"My mother brought a small Legion to the Embassy for what she called a "routine inspection" after we got a tip that he might be held in their prison cellar. We found him in the second cell, dead. Infected wounds from the shackles they kept on him," Adiah held up his own arms for emphasis, drawing imaginary lines on his thin wrists where binds would've been, "and there was evidence that he'd been tortured repeatedly. Or, healed then tortured, healed then tortured until his body couldn't take it anymore. Obviously we brought him home and gave him a proper burial, but it's impossible to get rid of the sight of him in the prison. I dream of it almost every night…"

Adiah trailed off, eyes misty. He was worlds away for a moment, but came to when he realized Kaviris was still looking at him expectantly.

"My father raised me. Mother's been a Legionairre since before I was born, so she never had the time to spare for me. He was my parent and my mentor, father and friend. Part of me died with him. I left because I wanted to get rid of the people that caused the ruin of my family, I suppose. Revenge isn't the most…divine of tasks to set out on a life-altering journey for, but I don't care. The Thalmor have ruined far more than just _my _family. I believe they have it coming, but someone needs to give their oncoming destruction a little push. I'm hoping I can do that…"

Kaviris thought about trying to reason with his Altmer companion, but knew he was too far gone when he noticed the curtain of utter despair and desperation lying just beneath his amber gaze. Adiah had made a choice, he surmised. A poor choice, but a choice nonetheless.

"So, what's your plan? You're just going to waltz up to the Embassy and try to take them down on your own?"

Adiah shrugged.

"I don't know what I'm going to do. I just know that I'll find a way to make it happen. I think this," he picked up the misshapen staff at his side and held it aloft, "will help me. It's a strange feeling, but I really think I'm meant to have found it."

"Well, it sounds like you're moving forward. Anything left behind?"

Adiah cringed, immediately thinking of Kyrrien. He was unsure how Kaviris would respond to that particular…aspect of himself, but made up his mind to reveal it anyways. He'd already spilled his guts about damn near everything else, so why not?

"I suppose. I had someone that I cared for…Kyrrien Orenthi, a Dunmer- like you," Kaviris raised an eyebrow, "Well, not like you. You know what I meant! He had been my friend long before we were lovers."

"He?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Just confirming what I had previously guessed at," Kaviris answered with a dismissal wave of his gloved hand and a slight smirk. Adiah, opting to ignore the comment, kept speaking.

"I didn't even tell him I was leaving. I just sort of…took off. Never intend to go back, either."

Adiah had hunched in on himself in embarrassment. Kaviris only laughed, the light sound ringing in the small space of the cavern. Adiah found himself smiling as well in spite of himself, eyes trained to the dancing, shrinking flames in front of his sitting form. He felt suddenly weary, as if a tremendous weight had been lifted off his shoulders by clarifying his purpose. He wondered in passing if his travel-mate felt as fatigued as he was and spared a glance up, seeking out the Dunmer's features in the firelight. The sharply defined cheekbones and deep set eyes were striking in the orange glow, attractively mysterious. Adiah felt his stomach twitch familiarly, and abruptly shook his head discreetly to clear the thoughts that were bubbling up as he watched Kaviris stare into the dying inferno. He wouldn't let himself feel that way. He wouldn't go to sleep with the thought of those lips on his own.

If Kaviris noticed his internal struggle, he didn't show it. Instead he yawned widely, stretching his arms out behind him.

"I think we should get some sleep. We can't stay here forever if you still intend to get to Winterhold in a timely manner. G'night, Adiah. I'll wake you when I'm ready to leave." With a nod of acknowledgement he stood and ambled off to one of the tents, collapsing onto the pathetic excuse of a bedroll with enthusiasm. Within a few minutes he was dead to the world, breathing even and deep as the dreamworld welcomed him. Adiah released a shaky breath and crawled into his own tent, curling in on himself as he lay. There were nights where he wished he was numb, and he knew he was about to usher in another. He tried in vain to fall asleep for a long while, but eventually drifted off as the last of the embers fizzled out. He was in darkness, now. He accepted it with open arms.

* * *

_ A single candle stood on an intricate metal stand in the very center of a circular cavern with a smooth, stone floor. Kaviris could only detect the sound of his own footsteps as he walked towards it, head cocked in curiosity. The flame flickered slightly from the soft wind in the chamber, diligently refusing to go out even as the Dunmer ghosted his hand across the tip of it. In a sudden expression of characteristic boldness, he let his fingers play in the little flame, relishing its warmth against his hereditarily resistant skin. He was watching it contently as another face appeared opposite his, startling him. He nearly fell as he backed away from it._

_The stranger's features had been completely obscured by ice blue-and-black skeletal paint that extended all over his half-exposed body, save for the shocking pair of mismatched eyes that bored into his own. The left was a warm orange, like the flame of the candle, and the right was an unnerving, brilliant green that nearly glowed in the dim light. He didn't speak, but walked around the candle to stand beside Kaviris. The thief's heart thrummed in his chest. He was unsure of whether to be afraid or enticed by the creature before him, part of him excessively hoping that he would melt into the floor. _

_He opened his mouth to speak but quickly halted as more figures with the same paint on their bodies stepped out of the shadows and into the light. They appraised him silently for a few moments before they began a slow, unique dance, embracing one another. They moved with unnatural grace, each pair moving to music that only they could hear. Kaviris noted with some curiosity that the colour of their painted bones was white…_

_The stranger beside him smiled, laying his long arms around his neck and throwing him into movement. Kaviris stumbled, not nearly as graceful and fluid as the creature that held him in death's embrace. He was allowed lead cautiously, gaze never wavering from the odd-eyed stare of his dancing partner. He felt no emotion, no sense of direction, only a bizarre sense of certainty. This was right. This was how it was supposed to be. _

_He let himself get lost in the sensations as he danced with the dead, eyes closing. All at once, they stopped moving. His eyes snapped open as the flame of the candle went out, submerging him and his partner in complete, unforgiving darkness. He twitched as he felt lips on the shell of his pointed ear, shivers climbing viciously down his spine._

"_Time is relative, Nightingale," the stranger whispered, tone icy, "But can you imagine a fate worse than death?"_

Kaviris awoke with a start, cold sweat on his brow. He had sat up from his dream quickly, drawing his dagger in unneeded defense. Realizing his involuntary reaction, he sheathed the ebony dagger and lay back on his bed roll, exhaling deeply. He didn't move for a few moments, waiting for the effect of the dream to wear off; the cryptic messages made no sense to him, but they were unsettling enough to keep him from returning to sleep. He tossed and turned, trying his best to put the image of the skeletal dancers out of his mind and the cold voice out of his ears. When his restlessness didn't subside, he dressed quickly and exited the tent, intending to wake up his companion and put as much distance between themselves and this place as possible. The stagnant chill was making him nervous.

"Come on, get up," he said, giving Adiah's sloppily sleeping form a quick nudge with his foot, "We need to leave. Now."

* * *

**A/N: That dream. I have no excuse for it. It'll make more sense later. Maybe.**


End file.
